


On the seventh day

by Vimes



Category: Bar Starz
Genre: Anal, Body Shaming, F/M, PWP, sexist slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vimes/pseuds/Vimes
Summary: "Of course you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Donnie; he was, in his own way, absolutely fantastic. Loud, preening, constantly contorting a face that wasn’t altogether unfortunate into grimaces no one could possibly hope to interpret... and the way he talked. Your eyes were glued to him alright but not for the reason he expected."





	On the seventh day

**Author's Note:**

> I have no justification and no excuse.

This did not happen. Donnie Pintron absentmindedly adjusted the angle of his red plaid farmer’s cap and turned the swagger in his step up by approximately 4% on his way back the safety of his sanctum sanctorum, his court, his throne. It just did not happen.

Emotion hadn’t kicked in yet because he was still reeling with shock. The white noise in his ears, the sudden deafness of the shell shocked, drowned out everything around him, including the pounding of the music that was his lifeblood. That in itself was enough to cause a brief, harrowing crisis of identity.

With a creak of fake leather against fake leather he threw himself into his seat with forced nonchalance and signalled to one of his lesser lackeys for another round of shots.

“Donnie, my man! You back empty handed?”

Of course Cory knew him well enough to smell the weakness and start prodding. Donnie raised his upper lip in a scowl and snorted his dismissal.

“Pfft. Seriously messed up, bro. You can’t see it from here but that chick’s totally pimplistic.”

No one could know. No one could ever, ever know.

“Shit, dude, for real?” Cory looked across the room, spotted _her_ and made a totally lifelike barfing grimace. “That’s nasty.”

“Yeah, no durr.” Donnie snapped his fingers, knocked back two of the shots materialising by his elbow and grooved in his seat, resolutely ignoring Cory to signal that this was the definite end to this line of questioning.

Rejected. Who did she think she was? Who did she think _he_ was?! He wasn’t even sure how long she’d been working here because hey, with so much tuna swimming around him he could hardly be expected to keep track but even half a night should be enough to prove to anyone that he, Donnie fucking Pintron, was the Zeus of these seas.

He was the king, and she could have been his... well, not queen obviously because that’d mean treating her nice and letting her think she had any sort of power. What else did kings fuck? Wenches? Maids?

Whatever. He didn’t care. He was Donnie Pintron. Bitch must have been dropped and he didn’t need that headache anyway, not when every woman in here with her wits intact would crawl on her knees just for a taste. Yeah. That’s right. He wasn’t even fazed.

 

Just one glance over at the VIP section and you had to bite your cheek to hide a grin. Donnie seemed to have lost his shirt somewhere while he retreated to his den with his tail between his legs, as if the sight of his own bare chest was enough to reassure him he’d still got it.

That he’d hit on you at all was unbelievable because your adherence to the all pink, short skirt staff dress code was half hearted at best, you didn’t talk to the clientele as long as there were limes to cut or glasses to polish and that man did not seem the type to go looking for a challenge.

And what kind of pick up line was “I grant you permission to experience me”?

Sure, you did feel chosen. It wasn’t that you didn’t recognise what a special moment this was - after all, bafflingly, women generally came to him and he didn’t have to lift a finger - it was just that you didn’t appreciate it. The dirty looks you’d gotten when he started looking over at you... and still, he’d singled you out, given you the old elevator stare whenever he walked past and made it known to everyone assembled that this was going to happen.

You had held this job down for about two weeks and him and his little gang were in here more often than not, with the crowd and several of your colleagues following his every move, fawning over him, imitating his outfits and abhorrent slang, nervously squealing out a “hey Donnie” whenever he was within earshot. This entire world was bizarre. Had you fallen through a funhouse mirror at some point without noticing?

Of course you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Donnie; he was, in his own way, absolutely fantastic. Loud, preening, constantly contorting a face that wasn’t altogether unfortunate into grimaces no one could possibly hope to interpret... and the way he talked. Your eyes were glued to him alright but not for the reason he expected.

He was even more over the top now to make up for his embarrassment and the insecurity radiated off of him so strongly you could feel it from here. Push ups with bad form followed aggressive humping of the greek-ish pillars that lined his pen, his low but insistent voice cut through the din in odd, unintelligible outbursts. It was a full ten minutes before Donnie settled back into what was, by his standards, relative calm and you looked over as often as possible to burn this nervous tantrum into your memory to cherish forever.

He very resolutely did not turn his red rimmed eyes over in your direction even once for the rest of the evening. Maybe working in this neon hellhole wouldn’t be quite as boring as you’d thought.

 

The next week you saw neither hide nor hair of Donnie. If you had known it’d hit him this hard you would have let him down gentler, because while this meant less vomit to mop up it also meant fewer wallets emptied. The latter was your boss’ problem, but bosses have a way to spread their troubles around.

The mood was tense when you got the bar ready next Friday. The puke points were set up, the beer watered down and the condom machines fully stocked. There was little left to do but sharpen knives, run a rag over the countertop and do all those little pointless tasks over again that helped you look busy. The bartender was checking his spiked hair in the reflection of the taps for the fifth time this evening when the door crashed open and the man himself strode in, arms held out from his body to make room for muscles that weren’t there.

Donnie was wearing a baby blue tracksuit today, top half unzipped and billowing, one set of sunglasses on his wide nose and another perched on top of his gel-solid hair. He spotted you, bared his teeth, pointed dramatically with index and pinkie finger (lest you fail to admire the rings) and growled “you. Manager’s office. We need to talk.”

And that was the thing about VIPs. It didn’t matter that they didn’t tip but still expected every other drink on the house, that they ridiculed the male staff and leered at the female. Either you showed them the deference they didn’t deserve or you lost your job. Which was fine in your book since this was a temporary gig in any case but if your bills weren’t a good enough incentive, boredom and sick curiosity closed the gap. So you smiled sweetly, nodded at your star struck colleague and walked ahead of Donnie through the staff only doors and into the manager’s office. It was small, hot and cramped, pipes covered the ceiling, inventory and paperwork covered the floor. Donnie entered behind you, shut the door and looked around the room with a sneer before turning his full attention back to you.

“What can I do for you, mr Pintron?”

“I did you the courtesy of waiting but shark week’s over, lady. You’re out of excuses.”

You blinked and tried, for the sake of science, to get into his headspace. “You think the reason I turned you down was because I had my period?”

The word alone was enough to make him snort, with derision or embarrassment you couldn’t tell. “Uh, yeah. I mean, you’ve seen me.” This statement came with a pose.

You leaned back against the desk, crossed your arms and stared at him. It didn’t help that a part of you insisted that for once in his life, Donnie had a point. Because somewhere under the disgusting mess that was his hair products, his overpowering cologne and his whole personality he was actually rather handsome. It was infuriating and unfair, but it was still true. You bit back a laugh and shrugged. “You don’t think there’s more to life than looks then, I take it?”

Donnie laughed his horrible, high pitched little laugh. “Grow up, lady. Donnie Pintron don’t play house - although I get it. Who wouldn’t wanna lock this down?”

He grinned, smoothed back his hair and stalked closer. For some reason you didn’t stop him. You had to see how this would play out.

“You’re hot,” he continued. “More importantly, I’m hot.” Donnie ran his orange thumb over your lower lip and spat his chewing gum out onto the floor. His touch made you shiver despite yourself (with queasiness or arousal you really couldn’t tell) and his voice dropped low into tones that could only be described, however reluctantly, as sultry. “It’s nature, baby. Don’t fight it.”

 

The future diverged ahead of you into two very different paths. Do the rational thing and laugh in Donnie’s face, leave this office and you’d live the rest of your life with your dignity intact, possibly sans a job you didn’t want in the first place. Do the interesting thing and fuck him right here in this mangy, windowless room and however bad or good he might be, you’d have one hell of a story to tell your grandchildren.

You sucked in a deep breath as you deliberated and his scent, toxic and overpowering, made your head spin. Then the ultimate argument presented itself. Even if Donnie lasted no more than a minute, that was still one minute you didn’t have to spend working.

So with a shake of your head you parted ways with your standards and hooked your finger into the slider of his tracksuit zipper. Donnie didn’t need to be told twice; with a smug chuckle he stepped in close, lifted you onto the desk and got between your legs. His wide hand slid up your back to your neck and held you firmly in place and you shut your eyes and let his lips find yours.

It was sloppy and overconfident, with his tongue in your mouth before you’d had a chance to get used to having him close, but as soon as you relaxed and allowed him to lead his dominating you like this was almost sickeningly hot - fucked up, disgusting but making your cunt throb in a way only a guilty pleasure could. And as long as you let him kiss you he wasn’t talking. That helped too. Before you even noticed what you were doing you wrapped your weak legs around his hips, causing your skirt to bunch up around your waist and you pulled him in until he pressed against your panties. Predictably, he looked down in between kisses and said “nice”.

Donnie was hot and half hard already and rolled his hips to grind against you, pulling a soft, unintended gasp from you. You stroked his stomach, unzipped his top all the way and let your hand slip in under the hem of his trousers. Then your questing fingers found a weird lump and you broke the kiss.

“Are you fucking serious?” There was no point in trying to preserve his dignity when he so clearly didn’t have any. “Is that a pair of socks?”

Donnie didn’t even have the sense to look abashed, he just stepped out long enough to tug them out of his briefs and toss them to the floor. “Sheesh, woman. You complain a lot.”

Then he pulled you in again and you felt his length press against your thigh, unadulterated this time, and once again you found yourself questioning everything about him because he was definitely packing without the aid of spare clothes stuck down his pants. “Fuck, Donnie...” you mumbled, impressed despite yourself.

“That’s right, babe. That tight body won’t be the same again once I’m finished with you...”

In a heartbeat he was kissing you again, your mouth, your neck, trailing saliva up towards your ear and letting his jacket slide off his arms. One of his hands was on your ass, groping and squeezing, the other gripped your wrist and brought it to his chest until you took the hint and stroked him. Completely smooth, fit but not half as fit as he probably imagined, warm and with his heart racing hard and fast enough that you could feel his pulse under your touch.

Donnie grunted and manoeuvred you until your fingers found his nipple and when you obliged and twisted it between thumb and index finger he moaned by your ear so desperately that you couldn’t help but be affected. His dick was jumping, you could feel it throb even through two layers of fabric and suddenly you were eager, not just because you wanted to get this over with. The two of you were of one mind because when you started struggling to get his acrylic pants down far enough he hooked a finger in under your soaked panties and tugged them to one side. He didn’t embarrass himself by trying to find your clit, he just let two of his digits slip into your cunt and tittered at how wet he’d already gotten you.

“It was real cute, you trying to play hard to get. But we both know you would have begged for this if I hadn’t been a gentleman and put you out of your misery.”

With your forehead resting against his shoulder you tried your best to block out if not the sound of his deep, growling voice then at least his words and you rocked on his fingers to get even a slight bit of relief. Donnie obliged and pumped them roughly in and out of you and it’d been so long since you got fucked properly that you let yourself moan and squirm against him even if it fed his already enormous ego. But you were needy too and after a little bit of pawing at them you finally got his pants low enough to slide below his briefs. His fingers slipped out of you, he stepped out and bent down, pulling trousers and underwear down to hang around his ankles. When he stood back up he flexed, grinned and pointed with both forefingers to his dick.

“Come on, girl. I know you wanna taste me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Donnie...”

He just laughed at this and tugged on your wrist until you slid off the desk and fuck it, in for a dime, in for a dollar... so you got to your knees in front of him, shot him a look of pure murder and trailed soft kisses up his thigh. “Don’t make me regret this...”

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t get it in your hair.”

Besides gagging him it seemed that keeping him distracted him was the next best thing. It figured that a man like him couldn’t work out how to talk and act at the same time and fuck, if he didn’t look like a meal and a half from this angle... you caught his balls on your tongue and heard him hiss with a sharp in-breath. When you shut your eyes and felt his fingers tangle in your hair you wanted more of him despite your best intentions and lapped your way up to the base of his cock. Your bet paid off - all he managed to do now was growl and moan and murmur soft, smug little lines of encouragement. “That’s it, I bet I taste so fucking good...”

You traced a thick vein up the length of him and finally let him slide into your open mouth. Donnie pushed a strand of hair from your face, cradled your head with both hands and pushed into you until the tip of his dick pressed against the back of your throat. He was surprisingly gentle and slow and your jaw already ached trying to accommodate him. When he slid out nearly past your lips you moaned before you could stop yourself and he laughed again, a breathless and almost natural sound, as if the heat of the moment had made him shed a layer of affectation. Or perhaps you were still trying to justify being here and doing this in the first place.... The next time he thrust into your mouth he held you in place long enough to make you choke, drool filled your mouth and you relaxed enough to let the tip push just barely past the muscle.

This was too much, you needed some kind of relief if he wouldn’t give it. So you pressed your panties against your cunt to soak up the worst of your wetness, pushed them aside again, found your clit and settled into a fast, steady rhythm with two fingers pressed against it. It hurt, being so empty but at the same time having this piece of shit using you like this, having you on your knees desperately playing with yourself while he fucked your mouth just made your cunt hungrier, throbbing harder. Soon you were as slippery as before and over his ragged breathing, his growls with each roll of his hips and the low purr of the broken air conditioner the slickness you ran your fingers through was still noisy enough to be heard by both of you.

The cheeky fucker pushed further and further with each thrust. You could taste his precum leaking out onto your outstretched tongue and hated yourself for the way it made your mouth water. He hissed, breathed hard and the sound of him encouraged you more than you wanted to admit.

A few minutes of this rough treatment and you were already a mess, eyes brimming with tears, chin sticky with saliva, lips and throat raw. Your moaning and coughing didn’t make him pause for a moment; clearly this sort of thing was an everyday occurrence for him. Even when you took him fully down your throat a couple times he didn’t seem impressed with your effort.

You’d expected him to spill if you kept this up but shockingly, it seemed when it came to sex Donnie was almost the very image of self control. Hard as a rock but still not close. A few minutes more, then he tugged on your hair and pulled you off of him. You opened your eyes, looked up at him, tried to catch your breath and he grinned that shit eating grin of his, took his dick in his hand and smeared it across your cheek before you could stop him. For that he got a slap on the thigh, but it was weak and only made him laugh again. “You love it, bitch.”

Time to get what was yours. You held out a hand for assistance and Donnie manoeuvred you up and around, pushing you down onto your stomach over the desk and sending paperwork and grimy coffee cups flying. A soft “hey!” didn’t so much as make him pause, he just slid your skirt up over your ass and pulled your soaked panties down and off your feet. Then you heard a sharp intake of breath through that broken nose and a growl of approval. “Now that’s what I like to snort,” Donnie said and when you twisted to try to get them back from him he held them over his head, out of your reach. "Yoink! Too slow. These are going in the trophy cabinet.”

You would have hit him, pulled free and stormed out if he hadn't chosen that very second to shift his attention back to you by slipping one, two, then three fingers into your starved pussy. That was enough to make you whimper and shake, and reluctantly you settled back on the desk, leaning your weight onto your suddenly weak forearms. "Fuck, Donnie... just... keep that up please and stop being an ass..."

"Hey, I get it." You sincerely doubted he did, but the way he pumped his fingers into you, hitting your g-spot when he crooked them inside you, you didn't have the strength to argue. “I don’t blame you for being cheap - no such thing as a virtuous woman when Donnie Pintron enters the building.”

Then his fingers were replaced by him rubbing his dick against you and you whined, arched your back and tried desperately to get closer.

"So, are we going to Greece, or what?"

"What?"

Donnie dipped a thumb into your pussy to get it wet and slid it up by way of explanation to press against your asshole. You felt your face burn and pulled away instinctively. "Christ, no!" and then you continued, much more quietly, "...I'm not in the habit of bringing lube to work, you know."

“Pfft. Chicken.”

And then without another word of warning, he pushed into you, sinking deep and stretching you, finally giving your traitorous body what it craved. He stayed there, still for a moment and you felt his pulse against you, his hot breath rolling down your back, the throbbing of his thick cock arching up, digging into your insides. You whined and pushed back, urging him to move and prayed he wasn’t hesitating to keep himself from coming - the idea of him busting after two seconds somehow wasn’t quite as funny anymore.

But Donnie surprised you yet again by holding on to your ass, pulling out half way before snapping his hips and sending yours slamming so hard off the edge of the desk you bounced against it. He set out at a slow, rough pace, grabbed hold of your hair and pulled you up by it, making you arch your back and letting him in even deeper. You scrambled on the plywood surface for purchase, to brace yourself against him, to hold yourself up so he could slap his stomach against your ass without letting you lose your balance or making him slow down.

“Yeah,” he grunted, “now you know your place...”

The mouse connected to the ancient computer beside you fell with a clatter and swung feebly back and forth from the rocking of the desk. Even through these thick cement basement floors it must be pretty fucking clear what was happening in here. Your moans and whimpers certainly wouldn’t help and you tried your best to silence them with the back of your hand. After all, you had to face those people after this.

Donnie didn’t stand for that long and with his next thrust into you he let the flat of his hand connect hard against your backside. “Come on, woman, let me hear who’s fucking you.”

“Donnie...!” you yelped. You’d meant to snap at him, but it certainly hadn’t sounded like much of a complaint. How the hell had any of this happened?!

“That’s right,” he growled and spanked you again, hard enough for the sound to echo. “Pray to your god.”

“Ahh... Not a chance, dickhead...”

He spat in his hand and then his slick thumb was back, pressing against your asshole. If he hadn’t noticed your face turning hot the last time, he felt you tense and arch up against him now. Donnie laughed. “See? You can’t get enough of me. Are you gonna let me play with your ass or not?”

“If I say yes, will you finally stop talking?”

“Sorry, lady. All I heard was a ‘yes’.”

He slowed the pace, squeezed your ass with his free hand and rubbed against you. Compared to the humiliation of fucking him in the first place, this additional liberty was a drop in the ocean... so you let yourself relax.

“There you go, good girl.”

His thumb pressed against you, rubbed in steady circles, adding pressure until all at once your muscles gave in and let him slide inside you. Donnie moaned even louder than you did, pressed down and you realised too late that probably the biggest reason he’d wanted this was so he could feel his own dick through the thin tissue.

It didn’t matter anymore. The added friction in your pussy, the hot, slightly wrong sensation of him grinding his digit inside your ass that made your stomach lurch and every muscle down there clench to keep him inside you made you ache for release. Every time he moved he had you whimpering, begging soft little “please... please...!”s and your legs shaking, threatening to give out.

“You close?” Donnie panted, betraying a complete but unsurprising lack of understanding of female physiology. It was a good thing, too, or you might have forgotten in the heat of the moment what a complete buffoon he really was.

“If... if you want me to come, you’ll have to give me some space...”

He didn’t seem to get it, but with a bit of effort and a painful scrape you managed to wedge your arm in between yourself and the desk so you had room to play with yourself.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

“Yesss... just hold back a little longer, Donnie...”

His skin against yours was slick with sweat, his breath was laboured and his pace back to the same hard rhythm as before. When his free hand pulled away from your hip you twisted your head to look at him and caught him flexing and kissing his own bicep. Then he caught your eye, grinned and stuck his tongue out. “They should get a mirror in here. Nothing looks as good as me balls deep in a woman...”

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed, “you are full of yourself.”

“Yeah... and now so are you.”

He twisted his thumb inside of you and you yelped, high pitched and weak. It wouldn’t take long now... and it was past time you admitted that your disgust was just making this better. He was an awful, awful man, fucking you raw and dirty in this dingy room, with the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and you rubbing yourself so hard and fast you’d chafe in the morning. Filthy, cheap, disgusting, wonderful in the moment but bound to leave you feeling sick once you’d had your fill.

It was a race to the finish now, you could tell by the way Donnie was losing his rhythm. So you shut your eyes tight, rested your forehead on the table top and let yourself focus on the feeling. How his cock stretched you, how roughly he toyed with your ass and left you even tighter, how he groaned and sighed on top of you and how his balls bounced off your soaked, straining fingers.

You came before you expected it and gave a surprised cry. It was so sudden and violent it very nearly hurt and you squeezed around him over and over again so tightly he could hardly move and called out “ohhh fuck, fuck, fuck...! Oh God...”

“That’s it, that’s me, worship me...”

With a gross, wet pop he pulled out of your ass, grabbed hold of your hips and started pounding you as if everything before this had been warm up. All you could do was lay there, panting and pleading, taking it and struggling to keep up. Donnie was louder than ever and you might have laughed, had you had any strength left.

“You ready for it, slut? Ready for me to mark my territory?”

Before you had a chance to ask him what that was supposed to mean, he pulled out, you heard the slick sound of him jerking himself off with your wetness and then you felt his come land in hot, thick strings on the bare skin of your ass and slowly soak through the fabric of your clothes.

“Oh, you asshole! I have to work in these clothes.” Your cunt was still clenching and your head still full of cotton, but a thing like that couldn’t go unopposed.

“Yeah,” Donnie panted and staggered back, “and you’ll wear my jizz like the finest jewels.”

For a few moments all the both of you did was breathe, shiver with the afterglow and try to recover. Your brain hadn’t started working again and that could only be a boon - later you could wonder what this encounter said about you, for now it was just wonderful to half lie here in the steam and feel all three of your holes blissfully raw.

A metallic pop, a fizz of rising bubbles. You didn’t even want to try to figure out where he’d kept a spare red bull this entire time. When you put your weight back on your shaking legs and twisted your clothes around your midsection to try your best to wipe them clean, he was downing the can with his pants still around his ankles and his softening erection air drying. God in heaven, what had you done? Would you be able to judge anyone for anything ever again after such a profound lapse of judgement?

More importantly, where were your panties? You scanned the floor but couldn’t see them anywhere. You were acutely aware of the sounds of footsteps outside and the thrumming of the bass coming up through the floor - life went on and the sooner you were presentable the sooner you could pretend in front of everyone like nothing had happened.

Donnie finished his drink, crushed the can in one hand and let it join the rest of his mess like a primo douche calling card, as if the nasty used gum, the hairspray stink and discarded gym socks wasn’t enough proof that he’d scored in here. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself and if nothing else, you’d given him a reason to stick around and drench his posse with champagne. Your boss would be happy. Donnie would gloat, which would make him happy.

And, to your horror, you realised that you felt pretty good yourself, even as common sense was returning to you. You had nothing to prove to anyone here, so what did it matter if they talked? The come wouldn’t show in that dim lighting, no one you cared about would ever be caught dead in a conversation with Donnie Pintron, you could sue for sexual harassment if anyone mistook a rumour for an invitation.

Without further ado, the man himself pulled his pants back up, snagged his jacket off of the floor and grabbed the spare sunglasses he’d lost at some point. Before he put them back on top of his hair, he checked his teeth in the reflection and saw that it was good. A lump in his pocket probably contained your underwear but they weren’t worth starting a game of monkey in the middle over. Then, as if he’d only now remembered you were still in the room, Donnie held up two fingers, sniffed them, kissed them and raised them in a peace sign.

“When you crave another beef injection, you know where to find me, lady. Pintron out!”


End file.
